


The Tired King and The Golden Boy

by OMGitsgreen



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles the decathlete, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Gen, M/M, Patroclus has enough sass for everyone, Track and Field AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMGitsgreen/pseuds/OMGitsgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After that was a long story of many years: Patroclus and Achilles continued to run, Patroclus finished college and his degree and quit running unless he wanted to enjoy it, Achilles continued onwards towards his route of victory, and somewhere between miles repeated and quiet moments alone they fell in love. But in the end one simple fact remained: Patroclus never really quit following Achilles." Achilles prepares for Olympic Trials, and Patroclus muses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tired King and The Golden Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Because my family loves to watch Olympic Trials, I had to do an Olympic Trials inspired modern AU for The Song of Achilles because that’s just what I do here. 
> 
> (I could be persuaded to continue this in shorter drabbles but in any case here you go!)
> 
> A Decathlon is a discipline of track an athlete competes in ten different track and field events over two days the combined score is the winner. Traditionally the winner of the decathlon at the Olympics is given the informal title of The World’s Greatest Athlete...which seems right up Achilles’ alley.

Long run Wednesday was the name of the game.

Patroclus hiked himself out of bed, noting the time quickly before putting on his biking gear. As soon as his gloves were on, he checked his bike and all the things he had packed the night before in his backpack. Pulled the water bottle out of the fridge, and then went to the garage that had his bike. When he opened it up, Achilles was already on the drive way doing leg swings (and looked sinfully good in the white shorts which he wore that barely touched mid-thigh.)

“Ready to go, Patroclus?” Achilles asked curiously as Patroclus rolled his bike out of the drive way.

“Whenever you are,” Patroclus reminded him, throwing his leg over the seat and clicking into his bike. Achilles gave him a grin before he began to run and Patroclus began to ride alongside him. For the first ten miles they rode and ran in comfortable silence, only Achilles’ pattering feet, the spinning of his wheels, and their combined breath breaking the quiet. The pearly morning light broke through the mountains which punctuated the view. The dusty roads and the shrubbery all gained a new form of beauty in that light, the quietness only added to the loveliness.

“Water?” Achilles asked and Patroclus glided closer, pulling the water from where it rested on the bike and handing it to him. Achilles checked his pace on his watch as he took a quick sip, obviously liking what he saw before he handed the water back with no comment.

“Did your mom call?” Patroclus asked him curiously and Achilles gave a huff as he brushed away a stray golden curl that had escaped his headband. 

“She did, you know how it is,” Achilles said with a light laugh, as if he weren’t on mile eleven. “Worried that I’m getting into trouble, as if there is trouble to get in up here.”

“You were the one who wanted to do high-altitude training and dragged me here!” Patroclus protested, unable to stop his wince at his sore legs.

“You would have come regardless, remember?” Achilles asked him with a sweet smile that Patroclus wanted to punch off his perfect face. “Besides, with Chiron you are getting the best sports medicine education ever.” 

“Oh right, sports medicine, I thought I was just here to be your mule,” Patroclus scoffed as he sped his pace up. “I’ve already graduated, I don’t need any more education!”

“And besides, we both know you can’t sleep without me it’s like physically impossible for you,” Achilles said, his smirk and the glint in his eyes as he kept pace with Patroclus’ bike just issuing a challenge. “You might as well come out with me instead of lazing around.”

“You keep talking like that we’ll see how pleasant sleeping with me is!” Patroclus shouted as he crouched forward and put on the steam, his legs were begging for mercy at this point but even Patroclus had a point to prove sometimes.

“Oh come on sweetheart!” Achilles laughed as he sped up, finally huffing with effort. “We both know that you angry in bed is just as good!”

Patroclus rolled down the hill and flipped Achilles the bird, and Achilles caught up to him as he laughed all the way.

* * *

Achilles finished up his conditioning exercises and his stretching just as Patroclus made Achilles’ midmorning snack. He came back in, still dressed in his running shorts and tank top, and slid into the bar of the kitchen next to Patroclus and turned on the TV idly as he scooped oatmeal into his mouth. ESPN was showing a clip that Patroclus recognized immediately, he turned to see Achilles smiling brilliantly as the Achilles on the TV threw the javelin. It was nearly a painting in slow-motion, as Achilles’ muscles rippled and in a show of power and grace the javelin flew and stuck in near perfect form. Narrators broke down Achilles’ technique, but it was almost meaningless as Achilles stared at the screen with intensity, seemingly dissecting everything that was presented. Patroclus had watched him do that at World Champs too, when Chiron had showed Achilles the video. In those moments, when Achilles went still, and his mind was focused on imagined flaws, Patroclus couldn’t help but wish to see him moving once more.

“Hey superstar, eat your recovery meal,” Patroclus reminded him with a poke to the cheek with the end of his spoon, bringing Achilles back to earth. Achilles turned and Patroclus took that opportunity to shove another spoonful of oatmeal in. Achilles gave a spluttering laugh that was so beautiful that if his mouth hadn’t been full of half-eaten oatmeal Patroclus might have kissed him.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Achilles asked, his eyes lingering on the screen that shimmered with his image like a distant vision. “It’s everything I ever wanted.”

“Hold on champ, you’ve still got to win the decathlon at the actual Olympics Trials before we even think about the Olympics,” Patroclus pointed out to him with a huff. “I mean, I know that you are definitely the forerunner but you can’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I am the best,” Achilles said lightly as if the knowledge was just assumed, rocking the legs back on his chair like a child. “But I can be better—“

“Keep eating,” Patroclus reminded him as he held out another spoonful. Achilles pouted before taking another bite. “Remember, you have training with Chiron today. I know you are the best decathlete in the world, but your shot put definitely is not the best. So we do need to get to training.”

“Ouch, Patroclus, you say that almost like you mean it,” Achilles said with a dramatic swing of his arm to cover his “wounded” heart.

“I do mean it,” Patroclus told him with a roll of his eyes. Achilles laughed and pressed a warm, melting kiss to his hairline.

“What would I ever do without you, Patroclus?” Achilles chuckled, his cheeks warm as Patroclus brushed his hand over it.

“Be a lot less self-aware I’m guessing,” Patroclus told him with a smile that felt a bit wobbly. As Achilles smoothed his lips over Patroclus’, Patroclus felt the spoon clatter from his grasp.

Despite his best effort, post training snack remained half-eaten.

* * *

As Patroclus watched Achilles warm up for his shot put practice, his coach Chiron standing on the side of the track, Patroclus couldn’t resist the urge to lay down on the grass and doze for a few moments as his thoughts wandered back in time to the time when Patroclus met Achilles.

Patroclus had met Achilles through a program for underprivileged kids with athletic prowess. Achilles’ father Peleus had been a famous rags-to-riches boxer back in the day who had won his Olympic Gold Medal in what had to be the greatest upset in Olympic history. With his background, he had a soft spot for kids in a similar situation as himself and often had a camp for kids with talent in the summer. Patroclus supposed it was the one thing he did that didn’t revolve around Achilles in the end, but that year Achilles had seemingly dominated the program. As Peleus’ son with Thetis, the legendary open water swimmer, Achilles had been bred for victory like a Kentucky Derby horse from the finest stock. With Thetis watching over everything he did like a hawk, Achilles flourished. At sixteen Achilles was already ripping up high school records by the teeth, and getting national attention. Probably for this same reason, to parade her son around, Thetis let Achilles enter into the program his father ran. No matter what discipline they studied, all the boys and girls flocked to Achilles like moths to flame as they tried to share in his glory.

Patroclus hadn’t, and maybe that’s why he caught Achilles’ attention. And Patroclus hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near Achilles, because unlike Achilles or any of the other teens with their stories of desire for success despite their circumstances, Patroclus felt like he was in an alien land.

The thing was, Patroclus knew even as a child he was being unnecessarily unfair. However Patroclus’ gift of running had come about out of nothing but necessity. He had lived exactly two miles away from the closest bus stop, and eight more miles from school. He had walked to the bus stop diligently every day, never once complaining even in rain or in snow. That was until Patroclus’ Dad, after a fit of booze-filled rage due to Patroclus not finishing his chores in time because of a late bus, had exempted him out of the bus route with a drunken and brazen claim that Patroclus could run it faster and if he got home one more time without all the chores done Patroclus would regret it for the rest of his life. 

And so Patroclus, without any other options, began to run to school every day. He left ungodly early so that no one would see him and ask questions, and every day he went to school and home running because the last thing he wanted was to be punished. No matter what the weather was, no matter what time, if it could keep him safe he would do it. It had been grueling, it had been cruel, he had sobbed over and over as he busted blood blisters, or cried in the heat in summer that made him dizzy and nearly throw up, but he kept going because he knew his father had never made an empty threat before.

It had been _awful_.

It had also made him the fastest 15k high school runner in the state of Vermont, a scant three months after trying out for the track team.

Patroclus had jumped at the chance to go to camp out of the wonder of escaping from his father for a whole three months, not because he had any form of aspirations. He had lived in a state of constant terror for sixteen years of his life, so he found anything beyond a neutral calm to be emotionally draining. He had no capacity for dreams, all he knew was how to endure. And enduring pain was what made great long distance runners he found out.

Enduring was what made Patroclus who he was. Patroclus endured the heavy weight that settled over him, and that only disappeared whenever he ran so far his body overtook his mind. He never complained, he just always did, which made him a raving hit with the track coach who could run Patroclus for hours without even noticing that Patroclus never reappeared from the place in his mind where he hid until it was over. He endured it, everything, the whole world on his shoulders like a king shouldering his kingdom. And it made Patroclus tired.

So tired that one day during the camp, he accidentally slept through the alarm. Patroclus hadn’t made any friends, having barely spoken a word to anyone besides a greeting, so no one had thought to get him up. By the time he woke up, Patroclus was feeling sick and shaky because he had missed his alarm and didn’t want to be punished, but couldn’t bring himself to go to meet that punishment.

Achilles found Patroclus in a closet, his narrow and grey world narrowing even further. Patroclus had seen Achilles from afar; he was so vibrant and so full, all the others nearly clinging to the excess of youth and power which dripped off of him in golden waves. His eyes flashed towards him, the green steady upon Patroclus.

“There you are,” Achilles said nearly expressionless, his face smooth and void of any emotion Patroclus knew. “They’re looking for you. Coach told my dad that you skipped practice.”

“Who sent you?” Patroclus asked with bitterness on the tip of his tongue.

“No one, I came to look for you myself,” Achilles said before pressing his hands on his hips. “You need an excuse—“

“Excuse? For what?”

“Why you skipped practice,” Achilles explained slowly as if Patroclus was a child. Patroclus felt his face get hot.

“I did skip practice,” Patroclus snapped even though he really hadn’t. “You’re Coach Peleus’ son. Say I was with you.”

“But you—“

“Then take me so I am,” Patroclus said shortly, pushing off of the ground.

Achilles’ lips quirked up into what might have been a smile, before Patroclus followed him.

After that was a long story of many years: Patroclus and Achilles continued to run, Patroclus finished college and his degree and quit running unless he wanted to enjoy it, Achilles continued onwards towards his route of victory, and somewhere between miles repeated and quiet moments alone they fell in love. But in the end one simple fact remained: Patroclus never really quit following Achilles.

* * *

Achilles was at the starting mark of his 15k, the last event of the decathlon at Olympic Trials. The gun sounded and Achilles flew, faster and stronger than any man. Patroclus along the side shouted and screamed Achilles’ name hoarse, but in the end it was really on Achilles against the clock. He burst through the finish nearly right on the World Record he had set at World Champs. The stadium chanted his name, as announcers cried in the chaos that yes, Achilles would be going to the Olympic Games with the second highest all-around score for the decathlon ever under his belt. 

Achilles trotted over to Patroclus, flourishing in front of an audience which all around the world was certainly saying his name. He touched Patroclus’ face and smiled so brilliantly the sun could have been envious of his glamor, even as his golden hair was darkened with sweat and sticking to his forehead, and his breath still came quickened in his lungs.

“One step closer to that gold medal,” Achilles told him.

“Almost there,” Patroclus agreed as Achilles pressed their foreheads together.

“And I’ll win it for us,” Achilles laughed as he leaned in to kiss Patroclus.

Everything was worth it.


End file.
